The Legion Comes
by Joseph joe Kerr
Summary: Following Archimonde's 'demise' and dismantlement of Iron Horde, Archimonde secured Gul'Dan's escape to Azeroth. Now the orc warlock tries to find his way to the Broken Isles on his Masters request. Worlds away, the Burning Legion reconsiders the options for Azeroth's undoing. Pre-Legion expansion.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: "** Misplayed"

 **A/N: i don't own any of the characters in the warcraft-verse and i do not own Warcraft.**

 **Location:** Argus

The ruined council room was dim, the green fire illuminating the twelve empty seats. The marble of which the grand chairs were made of, had cracks and claw marks, both new and old. The chairs encircled an even greater table, made from the very stone that was beneath the keep, even now it shone with hope, that someday the Legion would lose its grasp on the darkened planet of the Eredar, home to the draenei who fled it so long ago.

Aside from the corrupted green flames, another light gave its blessing- before the forsaken council was a window, taller than any spire and the length spread across the entire chamber, quenching the shadows that lurked in the corners of the grand design that was the council. Though no longer in use of the earlier inhabitants, a few found it useful for a meeting, even though the majority didn't see the point, when other locations would do just fine, saving time for travel essentially. However, one individual insisted on using that specific chamber in the capital named Mac'Aree for topics- concerning the Legion. The same individual mentioned before looked to the sky, observing the sky carefully, its defiled grace somehow was still beautiful, at least that is what Kil'Jaeden chose to believe.

He was standing on the railing. The square plaza beneath the tower was swarming with demons of all kinds, Beholders, Mo'args, infernals- Every kind were present, at the ready for any command given to break their chaotic activities. Such involving fighting one another or simply destroy the remains of the once great city, with their demonic taint and careless use of dark magic.

Kil'Jaeden stared into the masses of minions, he was in deep thought- considering the campaign on the alternate Draenor, it had been another failure. Or was it? A failure that lead to a better direction of actions. Archimonde's defeat at the citadel was indeed a setback, yet it did very well in adding fuel to Kil'Jaeden's schemes. Now he would have the support of many, he's fellow Demon Lords and the Nathrezim had been diverted from this path, for an seemingly easier triumph. Yet, the failure of yesterday was the success of today.

The Supreme Commander smiled at this. Long had the project been denied by lesser Lords of the Legion, shunned by Archimonde himself, believing it to be a desperate move. Even so, Archimonde managed to do his part in his final moments, sending the orc back into the reality that mattered most, to prepare for the invasion of Azeroth.

 _This time, dear brother mine, you are truly doomed._ Thought Kil'Jaeden to himself, his gleefulness showing in his fiery red eyes, waving his wings softly. He was at peace, fantasizing the utter destruction of the mortal world, avenging the betrayal he felt since the day the draenei fled, blindly led by the vile Eredar Kil'jaeden once considered his own brother, _Velen_. At the end, his dreamworld was been cut short by a disturbance and once again, he returned to the present, standing yet again over the howling masses of demons. The double door to the council chamber had been swung open and a smaller but maleficent figure made his entrance.

"What is it, Mal'Ganis?" Inquired the deceiver, glancing briefly at the dreadlord before reluctantly gazing again at the battalion below.

The dreadlord's steps were silent, compared to his frame, his long claws ravaging the great table as he strode past it, with moderate haste, his fel-green eyes fixed on Kil'Jaeden's winged back as he spoke in a mild but disciplined tone.

"The preparations are coming along swiftly, even ahead of the schedule. We will be able to connect the portals when the orc commences the ritual of summoning."

Kil'Jaeden faced his fellow demon at this, his hooves echoing as he turned, a fanged smirk was on his frontier- and Mal'Ganis saw small satisfaction in his master's eyes.

"I am truly delighted. The master will be pleased as well, though it is only the beginning."

"The mortal realm of Azeroth stands no chance, their cries for mercy will feed the legion for decades." Said the infamous Nathrezim reassuringly, laying his clawed right hand on the back of one chair, squeezing the rough stone, small cracks emerging from under his hand.

Kil'Jaeden's smile fainted and unconsciously moved his hand to his chest, grasping for his amulet, lost at the Sunwell Plateau years ago. A small fire roamed the demonlord's red eyes, Mal'Ganis could tell the different aura collapsing on the council-chamber. The dreadlord cautiously let go of the chair, crossing his arms.

Mal'Ganis knew what the Supreme would ask, and voiced his concerns with flat interest. "The civil war between the Annihilans are singing their last verse, Azgalor's influence has been slipping since Mannoroth's return to the twisting nether. We will expect the Demon King's full recovery in a matter of weeks. However, I incline my brethren are more than willing to end this-"

"And have you and your kin law them like haguuls?" Interrupted the Demon Lord, raising his otherworldly voice. Mal'Ganis tried in vain to correct his master's suspicions but his efforts fell on deaf ears. Kil'Jaeden dismissively gestured the Nathrezim to stop with a wave of his hand and hinting it with his now nonchalant look.

Kil'jaeden felt almost offended by this pathetic attempt at manipulating such a being as himself to agree on a dreadlord's intervention upon the Pitlords inner affairs. How long had they- the Nathrezim played this 'game' the Eredar wondered as he had before. They were good at this specific talent for being the puppeteer and not the puppet. Many eons had they turned one civilization against another, and weakening the defenses of the targeted world in preparation for a possible invasion. Countless worlds had been laid devastated and in ruin in a matter of months, not because of the masses of storming demons, but the cunning sabotage the Dreadlords provided. They were one of the better tools, than brute force and fire, if the resistance was well equipped for war. Mal'Ganis was famous within the general community as well as the Nathrezim hierarchy for his infiltration and mind-wrenching schemes to create panic and dispute- dividing and destroying the creatures' alliances with each other. Leaving them vulnerable to the Burning Legion.

"My Lord?" the question railroaded Kil'jaeden's train of thought and blinked multiple times before looking at Mal'Ganis.

When the Nathrezim saw he had his superior's full attention he continued onward with his report. Ending with the one thing, which had the deceiver's interest fully.

"One of our voidwalkers found Lord Archimonde's essence and is guarding him as we speak, the minion states Archimonde will be well enough for traveling, his destination Argus I assume."

Kil'jaeden's eyes narrowed and had the tinniest frown on his lips, his burning gaze saw to the west, a black cosmic cloud was nearing in the horizon.

"Indubitably…" said the Supreme Command of the Burning Legion, walking yet again to the edge of the grand window.

The dreadlord's hooves echoing as Mal'Ganis left the chamber.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I dont own any Warcraft-related material, and may Chris Metzen strike me down for lying.**

Chapter 2: "Home"

 _The Void, a terrible place, within and out of nothingness. Its blissful chaotic peace stretching beyond everything, anything and yet in nothing, it is vast as the universe itself, yet the void exist only in itself, therefore only filling a fraction of the multiverses, yet its tendrils finds their way into all corners of the galaxy. Moreover, in its own pocket, that consumes all and nothing at the same time, lies the Twisting Nether. Some would call it hell, others oblivion, demon's would say it is the very key to a thousand worlds. Nevertheless, a few would call it sanctuary._

Archimonde was dwelling within himself, he couldn't move or escape the blackness that filled his vision. Only little murmurs or whispers reached his mind, and he could breath, feeling something at his fingertips- alas, his senses betrayed him, he was nowhere near the alternate Draenor or any other place for that matter.

 _Matter, yes. That's all I am._ Thought the Defiler, calmly.

He tried connecting his fingertips, prowling for any feeling besides the strange emptiness, to no avail. Same thing happened when he tried opening his tired eyes. The blackness engulfed his vision at every turn. He soon realized where he was, the familiar darkness. He closed his eyes gently, inhaling slowly but filling his lungs to its limit. _Darkness,_ his only friend in death.

Archimonde growled forth a laugh or more like a snort. Death? If it was only that easy to find peace. He knew this place all too well, he was back in the Nether once more, once more entwined in its caressing cold company. He was _home_.

* * *

The lieutenant of Sargeras was walking in a forest, a dimly lighted forest. With tall trees, way larger than Archimonde and the trees moved, the wind sweeping their green-purple crowns, but Archimonde- walking among them, felt nothing. The wind didn't touch his slate-blue skin. Soon Archimonde stopped at a lake, its red waters welcoming him with its unnatural beauty. He remembered the first time he was banished to the Nether, at Hyjal Summit. The pain he experienced that day was unhinged, it felt like madness overwhelming his entire being, but then for a fraction of a second, he was clarified. There was nothing after that, but the forest and the lake. Here he would sit for what felt like eternity, but gone in a flash. Then, a shadowy tunnel sucked him back into existence, for him to roam the Twisting Nether.

How long would he wait? He asked himself, sitting down on the dry brown grass. Though he was impatient, he did not want to think of the responsibility that awaited him. Undoubtedly, he would be mocked of course, yet again after failing on the field of battle, his plans foiled by the heroes of Azeroth.

But when the chips were down, and all was lost, he did his part still. He began the invasion on Azeroth that day, by enforcing the pact with the orc- Gul'dan. Archimonde was to make sure that Gul'dan stepped through his portal, if the tide of battle turned against them, so had his instructions been. He did his duty to the Legion, though saving the orc's life as well.

"Rapacious little _Kyree"_ he spat. The inside of his stomach twitched at the thought of mortals befouling privileged magic, which didn't belong in their filthy unworthy hands.

The past strode by his mind. The mage, the one they called Khadgar, oh he was strong. Fierce with his magic and focused in his resolve. Able to cast frost and fire, as if they were the same school of magic. The arcane of course was unsettling as well. The magnitude of its potential. When first Archimonde heard that the arch mage would lead the attack on the Iron Horde he was shocked, wasn't he just an old man, living his final days out in Shattrath? How did he break the master's curse? Archimonde stroked his twin tendrils thoughtfully. A mere mortal achieving such feats would indeed be a threat in the up-coming battle. A confrontation between the Legion and the mage's forces would be inevitable.

Archimonde laid both his palms on the soft grass, looking to the clouds above. They seemed somewhat darkened, the fading white hue hiding within the darker ones.

The Supreme Legion Field Commander inhaled deeply, and exhaled little by little, savoring the taste of the air, though the air didn't have any specific nature to detect or interpret. It was just there.

"What will you do, brother? A mere mortal spits in the face of Gods and you hide behind deceit and cowardice." Archimonde thought it hilarious and laughed, his laugh heartedly but unkind. When the long series of laughter had ceased he once more looked at the red lake. It's ruby glow beckoning him to it.

What came next made Archimonde jump in horror as a familiar voice uttered itself behind his battered back.

"I will do our Master's bidding." Kil'jaeden's dominant voice blasted Archimonde's ears, its grave tone chilled Archimonde to his core.

And in one swift moment, Archimonde was hurled into the red lake by unknown force, sinking quickly and immovable. The disappointed face of Kil'jaeden blurred as the churning waters claimed the defiler. His weight and broken armor was dragging him down into the abyss. Sanguine water filling his lungs with the gift of life to the brim, sucking him into the physical world of the Twisting Nether.

* * *

Archimonde screamed to his synapses, his shrill of terror drove the voidwalker to shield itself with its gem-encrusted wrists, bolstering for the Legion Lord's feasible wrath. Archimonde was back, and now all his senses became clear as Northrend's everlasting ice. His injuries beginning to present themselves, bruises and scratches. Though it was, nothing compared to the deep flesh wound on his left side. His head-crest felt so heavy, and he struggled to stand up straight. A few moments passed before he had the appetency to lift his belligerent gaze from his wounds to his surroundings, he was on a small meteorite floating steadily onward to wherever the universe willed it. Aside from the deserted landscape, he sensed fear. The sweet taste of dread rushing into his systems and he quickly turned to the source. A mediocre voidwalker was pathetically shielding itself from him, though it began to peek when the agonizing screams had died down. The hollow eyes of the voidspawn met the Demon-lord's and it quivered- rasping welcoming words the best to its ability.

Even so, Archimonde didn't wish to harm it just yet, he was weary and exhausted. The voidwalker could be useful. The Defiler kneeled with a groan of pain before the lesser demon, meeting eye to eye somewhat- Archimonde still a few heads taller.

"Be at peace, walker. No harm will come to you." The Defiler purred the best he could, he never had the talent for sounding welcoming and warm like his old friend and his injuries and impatience affecting his calm resonant voice didnt aid to his attempt at being cordial.

The minor demon loosened its defenses, trying to stand strong, fear obviously had the better part of its manners. The minion had never seen such a high-ranking Lord of the Legion, though it certainly knew its Master's essences. The essence and sometimes the change of air would always confirm the identity and ranking of any high-ranking demons within the Legion. Rumors told tales of essences so powerful they could change the very mood of other beings. Archimonde was rumored to be so. The underlings commanded by him would say they could feel the despair of the enemy, the moment The Defiler walked the battlefield. Even if the doomed civilization hadn't even seen him. Their heroic attitude prior to his arrival would cripple and they would go silent, their courage vanish in a blink of an eye. It did work well for the Legion's horde as well, plenty of demons feasted upon fear and discourage to enhance their own abilities and their Supreme Commander would watch as they swept over the world, rampaging and slave binding any survivors that would be so unlucky to survive the tsunami of felfire and hunger of a thousand demons.

With all the courage it could muster it spoke softly, almost sympathetic for a demon. "You are hurt, Master."

"Yes I am. My return has been accelerated, but my wounds has not been mended."

"What will you have me do?" inquired the void walker hastily, eager to assist.

The Defiler's 'serene' eyes changed from mild to sinister. For a bit, they looked at each other, and then the wearer of gem-wrists understood. Clearly his lord wasn't fit for travel, no one doubted that. So they both knew what to expect next.

The voidwalker had witnessed such an act before; mortal warlocks had become familiar with the 'Grimoire of Sacrifice' and had made good use of it. Stealing the spells of their minions to strengthen themselves further, always in pursuit to push their own limits. Even at the cost of banishing their demons to the Nether. However, this time. It would not be just another sacrificial pact between a warlock and a demon. If Archimonde were to cast the unquestionably more powerful version of the spell, the voidwalker would certainly be gone for good. The Twisting Nether is the final destination for all, if one would succumb to 'death' on this plane of reality; oblivion was the only thing left. The lesser demon coiled its shadowy claws into fists and closed its hollow eyes.

Archimonde gave an understanding nod, demons had never been known for doing selfless acts. The Eredar smiled faintly and began to murmur the ritual.

"We are Legion, we are one." Voiced the void walker, its head hanging low, bracing itself.

As Archimonde laid his indexfinger on the demon's forehead. He whispered the last sentence, sealing the pact.

"Shaza-kiel."

The Eredar could feel the renewed energy coursing through his veins. Feeling to the Void walker's essence streaming through his fingertip. Steadily, the void walker evaporated into nothing, it's gemmed writs landing on the ground with a thud as its passive demeanor faded away. The ritual was over in seconds.

Archimonde's wounds had been mostly healed now, save the pain pumping still on his forehead.

The now power-infused demon, arose from his kneeling position and began manifesting a portal. His destination: Argus. Just before he entered and disappeared through the demon-gate, he took one last glance at the now empty shackles that once belonged to a demon, which willingly sacrificed itself for something greater than itself. Archimonde sneered and obliterated the remains, leaving nothing but a crater on the small meteorite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: "Defined by the Past"**

In the mountain landscape, shadows crumbled together in midair. A twisting pool like the maelstrom on Azeroth, it sucked all life in its radius into its dark embrace. For a time it would look like a black horizontal typhoon, meddling with itself for its own existence. Slowly the warping shadows formed into a gate. Purple-clawed hands held the opening tight. Six mangled hands pulling in their own direction, away from each other, stretching the portal even further, stabilizing it. The swirling darkness brought forth a black hoof, stepping into the world of Argus, its print trebling the earth beneath it. Then two sinister blue hands took on the edges on either side of the gate, dragging Archimonde forward into this plane of reality. He felt the earth beneath his hooves; he kneaded the dust carefully, as if assuring himself that he was on the right planet.

Archimonde scowled. What lied before him, was the city of Mac'Aree, perhaps an hour's time on foot. His gaze danced from right to left, seeing mountains and dirt. The only colorful element was the small pools of felfire. The wasteland was poisoned with it, small imps dazed around the pools like flies, without purpose and guidance, their cheery laughter and seeming inferiority aggravating the Legion Lord just the slightest. Archimonde uttered a bellowing sigh. It would seem his quickened return from the dark beyond had affected his abilities, evidenced by his lack of proper gateway placement. Even with the assistance, the now 'gone' void walker provided, an insignificant demon's sacrifice had not been enough. He slowly began the long walk and with a flick of his talon-liked fingers, his armor on his shoulders and neck faded into memory. He halted and took a moment to see his own reflection on his battered wristbands, before they vanished as well. Archimonde gritted his teeth and marched onward.

 _No need to burden myself further, by golden chains._

A dark cloud above Archimonde heralded his gloominess.

* * *

Mal'Ganis trotted along the wrecked wall of a once great building, west of the 'the eyeing tower' where the council room was, and more importantly, where Kil'Jaeden had sat base for the legion's operations. It had been a chaotic week. Pushback after pushback, which led to the Legion's ultimate defeat on alternate Draenor, had sat its mark on Archimonde's troops and more specifically, the Pit Lords. Normally for the humans on Azeroth whom Mal'Ganis knew all too well would react differently, than that of demons. Their predictable nature and their one-dimensional beliefs would result in them losing morale, as a strategist would put it. However, a demon would not succumb to despair and loss of faith, a demon would start to think of revolting and replacing the current authority with its own. The time Archimonde will set foot in Argus, he would need to handle a far greater challenge than one planet's surprising resistance; he would battle for his minions' continued loyalty to him.

The Dreadlord pondered around that subject until he came to the wall's end, a gaping hole welcomed him and he let go of Archimonde's troubles, entering the improvised entrance. The blackened stone along the entrance suggested an Infernal had been the cause. Small jagged pebbles of demon-stone still lied there, as a testimony, which proved Mal'Ganis' keen suspicion.

Inside the abandoned house was nothing but darkness, mind the little opening in the ceiling, leading its precious beams concentrated in the center of shattered stone floor. Mal'Ganis moved gracefully into the middle of the room, an imp's foot away from the lonely light. From the shadows came three other creatures, their armor in various forms, uniquely created to match their identity. Every Nathrezim liked to think, that they were in the center of the universe, of course such a thought would be ridiculous and faulty, but their armor and appearance could bear the weight of their arrogance. They had only basics in common, a set of neatly edged shoulder-pads and a heavy chest-plate for protection. Leggings and even wristbands were optional and some dreadlords were foolish enough to remove such parts for their desire to 'stand out'. Though the four dreadlords were different in matter of attire, their racial features couldn't be hidden. A pair of curved protruding horns were growing out of their foreheads, and they all had sharp claws instead of nails. If not convinced that you've been so unlucky to summon or meet a Nathrezim, the hooves and bat-like wings were a dead giveaway. Though it was uncommon, some warlocks of Azeroth had actually held the power to bring forth a Dreadlord into their world, with devastating consequences to ensue. Most blissfully ignorant beings believe that death is the ultimate punishment, but when you and more importantly your soul- are dragged with the Nathrezim back to the Nether, there is no release from the impending torment and they would feast on your cries of mercy and despair before finally consuming your soul as if it was a chunk of Elwynn boar.

"I'm pleased with your arrival, brothers." Said Mal'Ganis with the softest voice he could deliver.

"You're no brother of mine, Mal'Ganis." Answered the tallest figure among the three.

"As you wish, Varimathras. To be honest, I wouldn't count on a brother who would slay me in favor of a certain Banshee Queen. I'm convinced Balnazzar would enlighten us about this matter if need be."

"Miserable Keesha-" roared Varimathras before he was interrupted by Detheroc- the second figure. A faint chuckle left Mal'Ganis.

"We all know that had faking Balnazzar's death was a necessary evil. Now, what words do you have for us?" inquired Detheroc, glancing to Varimathras before turning to his superior.

"Archimonde is approaching as we speak, he will be in Argus by nightfall." Said the dreadlord nonchalantly, flapping his rich purple wings for a moment.

Varimathras began blithering about how that didn't affect anything planned. He went silent when Balnazzar broke his own silence, almost verbally stampeding Varimathras. "It does concern us, greatly. Do not be a fool Varimathras, Kil'Jaeden is greatly influenced by his fellow Man'ari. Archimonde may be beaten; he is nevertheless respected and protected by _him_."

The other three nodded approvingly in unison and the room fell silent.

Detheroc cleared his throat and spoke in what could be awe, "Speaking of the man'ari: they are still living in the north end of the city, are they not?"

"Is there an end to your dull question?" questioned Mal'Ganis, raising an eyebrow while picking up a tiny doll, covered in ashes.

"They do little to nothing for the Legion, yet still they live in luxury of past conquered worlds. The last I've heard of any deed carried out by them was this 'Tyrant Velhari' and she's not even originally from this accursed planet."

"Recruited by Gul'Dan at Hellfire Citadel on alternate Draenor" added Varimathras, resentment growing in his voice as he said it.

"You should focus on what matters." Sneered Mal'Ganis gazing on the doll, stroking a black talon along its body to its head. "They made a pact with Sargeras, do not think they didn't pay a price for divinity. A time will come, when all debt must be indemnified." He said, his black pupils constricting.

"Send word to Xoroth of Archimonde's return and see that any additional preparations for the portal be met with utmost diligence."

The three dreadlords dispersed into the shadows once more, leaving Mal'Ganis to himself. He stared at the tiny doll in his fanged grip, basking his wings for Light knows why. He pinched it somewhat, making a dent on its right cheek. For a while, he did nothing but pressure the spot, before kneeling and seated the figurine in the meager light that shone from the ceiling. It was common to have toys on old Argus, thus indicating this place was once a family's home, sanctuary.

After Kil'Jaeden and Archimonde made the pact with the Dark Titan Sargeras, the Eredar soon fell into corruption and became Man'ari. Though no longer living on the west side of the city, the remaining man'ari that survived the corruption like Kil'Jaeden found sanctuary in the north. Where the arcane energies were strongest and it was there, Kil'Jaeden's people could flourish in the way of the Legion, practicing fel magic and training for a battle that would likely be fought without their aid, since their master willed it.

Kil'Jaeden sacrificed many in the pursuit of power, or so Velen would say. What the proud Draenei Prophet didn't know, was that the remaining civilization of Argus lived in peace, only the west part of the city lied in ruin and no demon could enter the north without Kil'Jaeden's consent.

"This Khadgar." Whispered Mal'Ganis softly to the figurine. "Will not stop the Legion, he too shall feel the fires of Sargeras and there's nothing your false Gods can do to stop it. You have faith in one mage, a mortal. How very unwise." Mal'Ganis had pure contempt in his emerald-green eyes. Looking at the small object he suddenly felt a coldness, a chilling something that reminded him of Arthas, the boy prince and the vile Ner'zhul. The orc's betrayal still stung in the dreadlord's memory.

The infamous Nathrezim stood up on his hooves and walked out of the broken home, never once looking back to the doll that resembled an eredar child, with its blue eyes and symbol of the Naaru on its forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: "Loyalty"

The dark cloud had swept menacingly over the once great city of Mac'Aree, though harmless in every way possible, it frightened the former Eredar citizens. Through the predicament of having no 'natural' sunlight and very little orientation in the dark, the man'ari gathered in the center square of their perfect little utopia to the north. There they would pray to the dark Titan and in hope, receive his blessing. With worried looks, they saw to the cloud in the sky, its smoky consistence created even more uncertainty. With the exception of a child's cries they stood- or sat waiting for it to end.

South from the Man'ari, beneath the great tower of the council roamed only irritation and impatience, followed by roars of anger and whispers of what to come. The demons at the plaza shared ideas regarding the unusual weather, their thoughts reached as far to call it 'the hostile takeover, planned by the Old Gods but most just thought of it as an 'annoying floating water bag'.

On the sideline of the plaza in-between, the rubble sat a group of demons talking their own fill of fantasies and creative nonsensical plots of what, why and when- involving the abrasive cloud which covered all of Mac'Aree.

"I'd say it's nothing more than Karkun dis alz coming from Umbra's voidhole." Had the Felguard been saying continually, determined to be right as he sharpened his axe with a grinding-stone.

The other two sighed and the imp tried to ignore the Felguard's input while playing with a small green flame between its dirty fingers.

"When you think about it, it's not beyond the planes of reason, is all." Laughed the purple-eyed axe wielding legionnaire.

The shoulder-armored voidwalker grew tired of his comrade's perverted accusations, turning to leave the pair. The imp was snickering with the revealing of a frown on the felguard's scared lips.

"Your kin has always been nothing more than mongrels and vanguards, I'm above these indiscretions. As of the blackness above us, it's a message." If a smile could be seen on the voidwalker's expressionless face, it was there. Smiling like it had its own private joke who no one could understand. The small, curious imp scuttled to Umbra the voidwalker, asking about the cloud as if its life depended on it. It left the Felguard to his own devices, as so- he began sharpening the axe even more carefully, with riled grunts following each stroke.

* * *

As the cloud disappeared behind the mountain peaks, the tired Archimonde entered the city. The first sight of the eredar welcomed roars of excitement and respectful salutes from the many underlings; most of these gestures came from the backbone of the Legion's army, such as Felguards and Doomguards. Archimonde himself did not take much time to react and strode with a superior demeanor, chin high and clad in his signature battlements. The golden plates were elegant though inspiring fear at the same time. As Archimonde made his way to the tower at the end of the enormous plaza, a quick flash of fear crossed his malevolent features. What could he expect once he faced Kil'Jaeden? Fiendish mockery could be a strong possibility, but this was the second time he had failed and he himself didn't judge wasted second chances as 'bygones', he would torture the failure until the poor being practically begged for death. Archimonde knew Kil'jaeden wasn't a stranger to torment and torture for that matter. After all- Ner'zhul of the Shadowmoon clan tried to escape Kil'jaeden, many seasons ago, only for his soul to end up being ripped apart and brought together to start all over again. Though Archimonde knew Kil'jaeden thoroughly, not to point out that they were both lieutenants of Sargeras, he truly feared for what to come. Despite Archimonde's doubts about his own life and status as the left hand of the Titan, he simply did not want die, to stop existing at all. When his processing of thoughts came to rest, he stood outside the council chamber door. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he entered the lightly illuminated room. But where he expected the right hand of Sargeras, with his charming facial features and legendary adornments that would occupy several limps, there were someone else. No, in the room there was no brother of Archimonde, no Kil'Jaeden ready to end a failure of an eredar. To the east, on a crafty chair by the decayed table sat the dreadlord Mal'Ganis solemnly, smoking on a bewitching pipe- decorated with a small blue gem at the handle. The neck stretching from the core to the Dreadlord's lips was colored a forest green, entangled with what seemed to be a necklace, with the sigil of Lordaeron at the end.

Mal'Ganis raised a negligent eyebrow towards the Legion Lord at the entrance.

"Welcome home, my lord." He said stiffly.

"You dare sit while welcoming your master, nathrezim?!" thundered Archimonde, clenching his fists. What sinister plot could protect this dreadlord from saluting properly in his presence? He would rip the wings off the despicable creature for showing such disrespect.

Mal'Ganis puffed a deep stream of smoke out of his nostrils and cracked a bold smile.

"My memory recounts only The Deceiver as my master, not naming the one all demons have in common."

While he had spoken, Archimonde had closed the gap between them, hovering over the sitting Mal'Ganis, almost waiting for the dreadlord to give him further excuse for a physical confrontation.

"I should inflict my affliction onto you, 'foulspeaker'. Do not mistake my hurried recovery for weakness, I still hold the might to reduce you to ash."

At this, Mal'Ganis met Archimonde's gaze and rose from the chair, standing an ogre's head smaller than the eredar before him.

"Nevertheless, you should save that power for the battle to come, my lord." Mal'Ganis' smile had disappeared but his eyes showed only satisfaction in belittling Archimonde.

Archimonde said nothing.

"Your choice regarding taking Mannoroth with you to Alternate Draenor has left the Annihilans rampaging everything and everyone. They are in open rebellion against YOU, Lord Archimonde. Azgalor thinks you weak after your defeat, so free me of your misdirected anger. I'm not the Pitlord opposing you as the left hand of OUR Master."

Archimonde gritted his teeth. On one side deserved Mal'Ganis all the wrath he could muster, but he was right as well. Archimonde had a deep distaste for the Nathrezim. To him- were _they_ all come undone by his hand, thinking them nothing more than backstabbers and silver-tongued scoundrels. Mal'Ganis knew Archimonde had to reserve his strength for Azgalor because of his obvious weakened state, therefore inviting something Nathrezims rarely did- He gave the dreadlord an opportunity to lay aside discreetness and actually show his true opinion, regarding the left hand of Sargeras. All dreadlords knew Archimonde's point of view when it came to their way of serving the Legion, in return they held no loyalty to him as well. Luckily, they seldom had to interact with one another, since Kil'Jaeden alone commanded the dreadlords, as the Pit Lords only took orders from Archimonde. This insured both parties had equal influence over Legion, simplifying the hierarchy as well.

"Where is my brother?" inquired Archimonde after a long moment of silence who Mal'Ganis found quite pleasing, thinking the Defiler having lost his words.

"North, among the Man'ari" Mal'Ganis emptied the smoking pipe casually. "I believe they were unsettled by your cloud." Said Mal'Ganis with mirth, tying the pipe to his belt.

Archimonde only huffed at this.

"As you wish, but you best hurry. You shouldn't make the Right hand of the Legion wait." Voiced Mal'Ganis like a teacher to a child, before vanishing in a burst of bats.

"My cloud? Hardly." murmured Archimonde.

* * *

As Archimonde made his way to the Man'ari sector in Mac'Aree. He couldn't help but feeling afraid once again, it was a relief to see Mal'Ganis instead of his brother even though he also felt humiliated by dreadlord's disregard of authority. Archimonde didn't want to admit that he actually regretted taking Mannoroth's side concerning the strategy the Legion used on alternate Draenor. Against Kil'Jaeden's wishes, Archimonde vouched for Mannoroth all these months ago. Now, because of that decision, he was possibly walking towards his own oblivion. Perhaps Kil'jaeden planned it that way, to be amid their people so they too could bask in Archimonde's failure before Kil'Jaeden would kill him for good. Despite Kil'Jaeden's affection for his brother, Archimonde didn't believe he would be forgiven a second time.

The memory of Hyjal with the thousands of wisps tearing his body apart phased through Archimonde's mind. Then a flash of the past, involving the hellfire citadel where he took his last breath before the life left his cruel eyes.

The Defiler stood outside a huge gate, guarded by four Man'ari warriors. Their fiery swords and ring pierced skin glinting in the sunlight. They were all women, their green and red armor was heavy and covered most of their body. But still, their luscious curves made them somewhat graceful while wearing the bulky suit of enchanted fel-armor.

It was not until he was close that four guards gave up the battle stance and saluted in awe. The heavy gates opened like welcoming arms of a mother who hadn't felt her child's touch in centuries. With a proud chin and broad shoulders, he stepped inside.

Not far from the gate where he stood, was the mass of his beloved people. The Man'ari near him happily took his hands and guided him to the center. It was like a celebration for his return, with flourishing flowers decorating his path to the platform at the center. Briefly turning his head left and right he saw what seemed to be well-dressed handmaidens, guiding him instead of the previous escort. They too were beautiful with their ruby skin and youthful eyes and features. Archimonde let out a strained smile, not letting his own guard down. This welcoming party was too surreal for him, with the exquisite food plainly laid on each table on the sides of the crowd while the entrancing music swarmed his ears.

With so many former eredar all around him, he still searched for the one individual that would matter the most. The cheery yells and roars grew louder as he was being guided closer to the platform. He had never seen so many Man'ari at once since the dark Titan came to Argus. They loved him, they reached out for him like he was their only God, coming back from the dead to grant them salvation. The hope in the one of the handmaiden's eyes shook his very core, the female eredar seemed to adore him, showing Archimonde only kindness and respect through her eyes and her touch had been so soft compared to his.

He didn't see the male Man'ari on the platform until he was very close, at the head of the stairs. Both of the handmaidens loosed their grip and smiled before joining the crowd. Looking up Archimonde couldn't see the figure because of the sunlight, shadowing his vision. The figure extended a helping hand for Archimonde to take. Then the gathering of hundred silenced if on cue while the music died down. Archimonde could suddenly hear his own rasping breath.

"We've waited for you, brother mine." Said the otherworldly voice gently, spreading his wings gloriously, as if it was about to fly. The adorned wings blocked out the sun and if not for his self-restraint, Archimonde would have let lose of the tears that had formed within his fel green eyes.

"Kil'Jaeden…" gasped Archimonde and accepted his brother's aid.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: "An orc in need."

A fine welcome it had been. Not only was Archimonde honed as a hero returning to his 'village', but he was spared as well by his oldest friend and most trusted ally- Kil'Jaeden had obviously bigger plans for him since he was still breathing. Sargeras would probably not intervene if it came to a final stand between the two, since replacements could always be found in the Man'ari nowadays and since Archimonde had been defeated a second time in battle, some would think him a liability. No matter the countless victories he had harvested, the one victory that had mattered most slipped right through his herculean fingers the second he lost against the heroes of Azeroth and their powerful allies. Beaten by a savage orc, an almost celestial mage and the damn draenei child _Yrel_.

The masses of his people was left to celebrate with mundane display of skills in magic and strength in arms, as Kil'Jaeden laid a hand on Archimonde's shoulder guiding him away from the festivity and towards the great tower. On the way Kil'Jaeden said nothing, but smiled and fatherly greeted every Man'ari on their way, blessing them with the Dark Titan's will and encouragement to work harder at their specific talent or occupation, whether it be for conquering or for playing the simplest instrument for amusement of course. However, Some of his people knew that a few instruments weren't well-liked in his eyes, though the particular instruments or furniture weren't illegal, Kil'Jaeden tried his best to get rid of every source that ignited memories of a united eredar in the past before Sargeras, before the deep betrayal Velen had committed. Such were the case when they met a lone child, sitting by herself with a prestigious harp on her lap looking melancholy as they came within her point of view. At that, Kil'Jaeden let go of Archimonde and kneeled before the girl, smiling with sincere eyes even with his demented features and omnipotent aura. Archimonde watched in silence feeling the still not healed bruises of battle while Kil'Jaeden conversed with the child.

For a long moment, the grey eredar looked to the street across them, thinking of nothing, trying to ignore the seething pain that rippled through his frame.

"Shall we continue, old friend?" inquired the deceiver has he suddenly appeared beside Archimonde. Archimonde had found himself standing beside a street lantern for support. Kil'Jaeden's warm hand found Archimonde's back as they slowly began the pace. As they rounded, the corner nearby Archimonde could not help but glance sideways the road they came, looking at the child that now sat with a creature beside her, smiling and giggling with the gold-trimmed harp forsaken on hard stone. Soon enough before child and demon vanished from the demon lord's vision the imp sat the harp aflame with the child laughing almost hauntingly while dancing around the green pyre with her new venal friend.

With an impassive visage, Archimonde turned his eyes back and what met them, made Archimonde gasp silently when confronted by Kil'Jaeden's broad fanged smile that scorched all his serenity and affection away from his once beautiful face. The pure ire in his friend's burning eyes told him that every memory of the once proud peaceful race on Argus would be eradicated, even if it were only something meaningless as a harp. One could only wonder how alive the hatred Kil'Jaeden felt for Velen was, even after millennia he still sought out the utter humiliation and destruction of the Prophet and his followers. Must be terrible to know what planet Velen inhabited and yet not even with the power of the Legion could Kil'Jaeden reach out and take the betrayer's life. Archimonde supported his equal's wishes for justice over the turncoat, but to him it wasn't a priority, and he didn't feel as hurt as Kil'Jaeden. The demon lord still remembered the first few weeks after Velen escaped certain death- his brother would spend days inside his chamber, and only come out to look at the stars in the night almost like searching for Velen between the glowing gems in the night sky. Archimonde also remembered the wrath that fell upon any save Sargeras that didn't share Kil'Jaeden's enthusiasm for Velen's capture and execution in the months that followed. Archimonde let out a sly pout and Kil'Jaeden noticed, but didn't say anything. Archimonde just remembered how silent he was at that time in the past, very uncharacteristic for him indeed. Thinking of breaking characteristic traits, he would also have to deal with Mal'Ganis, for a foulspeaker to utter threats so bright, the dreadlord must have a plan for Archimonde's death. After so many battles and wars raged in the name of the Legion, Archimonde would not let a dagger in his back be his end, not now, not ever.

As the leaders of the Legion made their way to the teleportation platform, Kil'Jaeden was thinking of only one thing: the time it would take for the Legion to set foot on Azeroth once more. How long would it take to see where the betrayer had hidden himself and his accursed band of exiles and snuff the light out of his likely old tired eyes?

Upon once again as countless times, Kil'Jaeden was taking in with the view of the council room, its vastness untiring and pleasant for the eye, even for demons so to say. Aiding Archimonde absently to one of the nearest chairs at the formal table the man'ari leader beckoned for the high standing individuals within the Legion to come forth.

Mal'Ganis bowed respectfully and took his seat near the window, a few spots away from Archimonde, but not out of vision for the sullen and obviously stricken eredar.

Kil'Jaeden recognized Talgath as he took his seat between his oldest friend and the cunning dreadlord.

After exchanging pleasantries and in Archimonde's case, casting scornful glances. Kil'Jaeden inquired Mal'Ganis about the Nathrezim brothers and Varimathras, to that the leading dreadlord simply expressed his lacking knowledge of their where-abouts whom Kil'Jaeden accepted nonchalantly.

And so, they began discussion the preparations of the invasion on Azeroth.

"Our reports mentioned Gul'Dan has been using magic near the swamp of Sorrows on the eastern kingdoms." Mal'Ganis paused for a few seconds "and in substantial quantity."

The powerful figures grew silent, Talgath's face impassive making himself comfortable.

Archimonde's head was pounding, his thoughts not so easily gathered. And he swore that at one point he could see a second Mal'Ganis just behind the seated one. The pain in his abdomen gave in to suffering as he shifted from the left to the right armrest. Gritting his teeth and trying his best to look well he asked if there was any demons to aid their important pawn, but to no avail Talgath regretfully sank any idea of helping the orc with the resources in that area. He told his masters it would likely attract the attention of nearby enemies if the demons in range began organizing and advancing in one direction, Kil'Jaeden hesitantly agreeing.

"He must be in peril if he's using so easily identifiable magic, such as our own." Purred the great red demon, eyeing the nathrezim carefully.

Archimonde caught the stare and made use of it, hastily he interrupted the discussion between Talgath and Mal'Ganis, slamming his fist into the table. "Mal'Ganis should come to our ally's aid, he hides well among the insects." Emphasizing on the last syllable. Yes, if he could get rid of Mal'Ganis this way he could buy himself time, for whatever plots the sinister dreadlord and his putrid brethren had in store. Maybe it was paranoia that forced Archimonde's voice but in his weakened state, every precaution against an assassination would do, besides letting Mal'Ganis deal with the warlock would be a blessing in disguise, granting him Kil'Jaeden's ear all to himself.

"Preposterous, I'm needed here to assure the portal's stability be intact!" countered Mal'Ganis, quickly realizing what Archimonde was playing at.

"You will do as you're told, dreadlord. Your precious portal is no use without Gul'dan's-"

Kil'Jaeden found Archimonde amusing, this surely were a feat granted by his brother's unfavorable position. It was indeed seldom Archimonde employed brain over brawn, well mostly because of his pride and unbridle power that now was unavailable. Nevertheless, he had a point; a dreadlord could mingle with the mortals, making their way to Gul'dan much easier without raising alarms to the Kirin Tor or any other factions that made magic their 'bread and butter', a mortal's analogy. Kil'Jaeden smiled faintly, enjoying the clash between Archimonde and Mal'Ganis, despite Talgath not joining in on the verbal slaughter.

It took a wind's push for Kil'Jaeden to realize they sought him out for a final verdict, though Mal'Ganis appeared more confident than the Defiler did. Would it be preferable to have Mal'Ganis on this task? mussed the demon lord to himself, holding a talon-like finger to his chin.

"I see wisdom in both your arguments." Started Kil'Jaeden gently, gaining their audience. "My friends, you have all done so much in service of the Legion, it is only fair that you claim what is rightfully yours, be it a better view of the complete annihilation of Azeroth or a stronger position within the heart of Argus." Kil'Jaeden took each of their expectant looks with satisfaction, one would certainly be displeased about the arrangement forming in Kil'Jaeden's ominous mind, but why should one part be favored when _he_ had failed so much, perhaps his old toy the Lich King had finally spoken sense, saying something useful- 'All shall suffer'.

"I see now, that aiding Gul'dan is a priority reaching beyond our control, therefore only one of the best agents should be deployed to assist him, and secure the Legion's entrance on Azeroth." With that said, the red demon lord casted his features towards Mal'Ganis who received it ill, a slight twist on the dreadlord's lips hinted his deeper scowl. Before Mal'Ganis could answer, Archimonde rouse from his seat applauding very sarcastically and headed for the wooden door but he never got far.

"Speaking of annihilation, while you were rejuvenating in the nether a crisis made itself heard."

Archimonde's back was turned, but the others could clearly sense his distress, both mentally and physically the former eredar's hands was curled into fists shaking almost uncontrollably. Alas, his punishment was due. He opened his green dimed eyes, looking at the grand wooden door, wishing he'd been faster but then again, his old friend would never had let that happened, for all Archimonde knew, this was planned the minute Kil'Jaeden found him in the forest. The peaceful forest.

"I told you it was a faulty decision to bring Mannoroth into your campaign. And now the annihilans are in open rebellion, Sargeras has charged me to bring them into the fold once more." The Deceiver's visage had darkened and the looming aura around him made the light flicker just enough for all present to feel it, even so, they didn't need to see it to sense the power Kil'Jaeden possessed.

"Originally I would have let the nathrezim tend to the unfortunate scene, but if you wish for Mal'Ganis to help the orc." He paused again, halting to see Archimonde turn to meet his penetrating gaze.

"Then you will have to put an end to Azgalor's premature uprising, post haste."

"Then perhaps it was unwise of you to rob me of my deserved banishment from the nether!" bellowed Archimonde, reaching his limit. However, his brother in arms did not flinch but raised a questioning eyebrow at the allegation.

Silence flooded into the room, and for a long moment, Archimonde prayed to Dark Titan that Kil'Jaeden would reveal the truth about how he dragged Archimonde out of death's door. But he didn't and left the council chamber with stampeding hooves.

"My Lord?" asked Mal'Ganis

"Go, save Gul'dan my dearest nathrezim, make sure he opens the portal on the Broken Isles in the tomb of Sargeras, no matter the cost."

"But who will tend to the portal from our side? Surely you don't mean to send me away at this crucial-"

"GO!" Screamed Kil'Jaeden the blazing fire in his ruby eyes bursting outside the sockets. The dreadlord cowered with his wings molding into a storm of bats followed by an eerie hiss, then he was gone.

"What did Lord Archimonde mean by saying you were responsible for his return?" Talgath was hesitant to ask, but curiosity got the best of him.

"I do not know, there's something odd about all this. I can sense it." Said his master, like a whisper.

"Odd like the dark cloud which heralded Archimonde's coming?"

"Yes, my servant. Yes." Muttered Kil'Jaeden glancing towards the green sky above from the railing.

Kil'Jaeden's thoughtful gaze became instantly empty upon realizing: had he just send Archimonde to his death?


End file.
